


I'm Alive

by httpstiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Home Invasion, Hurt Stiles, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpstiles/pseuds/httpstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The house phone rings at 3:00 a.m.</p><p>“Hey Stiles. I'm getting a little worried about you not calling back last night. I'm probably going to stay until dinner so leave a note if you go anywhere. And call me b-” there's a commotion in the background. Someone shouts something about a gun and the phone rustles around. <br/>“Stiles?! Stiles if you can hear this, I'm coming! I'm coming Stiles!”</p><p>--</p><p>When a simple break-in turns into a home invasion, Stiles' life is on the line as he's held hostage in his own home by amateur criminals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Alive

Stiles was used to the supernatural. At this point there wasn't anything that would take more than an hour's research to figure out.  
When he found out that Vampires exist, he researched. He was quick to separate fact from fiction all while getting over the fact that vampires are definitely not part human and never were, and are in fact just creatures of the night made of fangs, dripping goo, and a whole lot of ugly.  
The thing about random people breaking into his house is as follows: crucifixes, holy water, salt, mountain ash, mistletoe, and wolfsbane- seriously Stiles can go on- do not work on humans. His life has actually come to the point that he doesn't know how defend himself against a human with just his hands.

He finishes his day like every other one. Except this day there's the fine exception that he's had an awesome day and he's jamming out to music in his jeep, so of course when he gets home, he just unplugs his iPod and continues to let it play out loud while he sings along obnoxiously.  
He's still singing when he enters his house, home alone again because his dad is on shift, and he decides on dancing into the kitchen because "why the hell not". He's just opened the fridge when he hears the shuffle upstairs.  
He immediately pauses his music to try and confirm what he's heard, but nothing echoes through the house.  
He goes to play his music again, but stops when he hears the most faint thud. He wants to assume that it's just one of his annoying werewolf friends, but that's a long shot considering he actually locks the windows before he leaves every morning for school, and the fact that majority of his friends had plans on this Friday with significant others and none of them should be here.

Stiles doesn't know what to do or what to grab. Anything he uses against supernatural creatures is upstairs in his room. He makes a mental note to leave some in the kitchen from now on.  
He wonders if he should even call the police department because he doesn't know for sure and he really does not want to be responsible for his dad's higher-ups thinking that he has a troublesome son.

He sets his phone down on the counter and goes for the knives. He makes sure his laces are tied because he is not tripping while running for his life, not again.

Someone is waiting for him when he reaches the stairs.

 

“I thought you said no one was home!”  
“I can't help if someone shows up!” Stiles groans from the floor.  
“You guys suck at this,” he says.  
The two guys are stereotypical robbers. Both wear black ski masks and black clothes, the only real difference is that the one that didn't grab his head and smash it into the banister is a bit more worried.  
“Shit man we're going to be in real trouble now. I thought this was just get shit and go! Now we have assault!”  
“Against the sheriff's son. Smooth move.” Both the guys freeze.  
“Fuck.”  
“Watch the kid,” the larger and more macho guy says. “I'll be right back.”  
So Stiles makes himself useful. He's supposed to be laying on his back at the top of the stair way and unmoving, but he's all about taking risks. The second the guy is gone down the hall and into his dad's room, he grips the anxious guy's ankle and pulls. The guy's back hits the floor and Stiles jumps up faster than he should and pushes him down the stairs.  
He goes down with a tumble and Stiles makes a turn for the room. His plan isn't the best: take down the guy and call 911 from the house phone in his dad's room.  
It isn't successful because the guy is going through his dad's nightstand drawers. He pulls out the gun and aims it at Stiles. His hand shakes as he places his finger on the trigger.  
Mr. Anxious runs back in then and instantly tackles Stiles to the ground. Apparently he's not so anxious anymore. The gun gets lowered as Stiles and the guy wrestle.  
Stiles freezes when the house phone rings and the man uses this distraction to his advantage. He manages to pin one of Stiles' hands above his head and lock down on his throat with his free hand.  
“He'll get suspicious if I don't answer!” The man squeezes more, until Stiles' face goes red.  
 _Hi you reached the Stilinski household. We're away from the phone, but leave a message and we'll call back!_  
It's Stiles' voice and the one holding the gun snickers.  
 _“Hey Stiles, I'm going to have to pull a night shift at the station. We have a rapid succession of breaks-ins today and we can't find the ones behind it-”_  
They both burst into laughter at this.  
 _“-so call me when you get this and I'll see you tomorrow.”_

Stiles is so screwed.

-

Adding it all up, Stiles has a superficial cut on his head, that's still lazily bleeding, and some bruising around his body and neck, but other than that he's fine.  
“HE-!” He cuts himself off when he feels his throat cry out in pain. Mostly fine. It burns and his voice is rasp. When he brings his hand up to it he can feel how much it actually hurts. For some reason it just pisses him off more.  
He kicks at the door this time, trying to budge it open. He hates that it's such a thick door, but that's basement doors for you.

Only after his dad had called did they decide that they needed time to figure out what to do.  
 _“He hasn't see our faces! We should leave now!”_  
He gets thrown into his own empty basement after acting out again. They'd started to rummage through his mom's old jewelry in front of him.

Not all houses in California have one, it's uncommon, but this is an old house.  
They don't really even use the basement. It holds the water heater and the furnace, but other than that, all there is are leaky pipes. There's one that has a puddle about a foot in diameter and it smells stale and moldy down here.  
Another downside is the lack of light. As the sun starts to set, the small window gets little light running through it and the small light down here doesn't turn on anymore.

-

He doesn't know how long it's been, but he's tired of kicking and it's not getting him anywhere. He hasn't heard anyone from inside the house in awhile, so he's not even sure that they're here anymore.

He wonders when his dad will start to wonder why he hasn't called back.  
He's laying at the foot of the stairs, arms resting over one of the steps with his head rested on his arms. He really wishes he'd put his phone in his pocket rather than on the counter, but it's no time for regrets. What's done is done.

-

He's taken to kicking on the door knob. It's a sturdy metal one that he remembers his dad having to replace when he and Scott knocked it off. They were young and ran down the hallways all the time. It's a fond memory.  
But the angle is a hard one and he has to be careful with the thin wooden rail that leads down, even if it's only five feet from the bottom of the door frame to the floor of the basement. He braces himself against the wall and kicks on the side of the door knob. A couple times his foot slips and hits the rail. Each time he loses his balance, but it holds sturdy and so does he.

It's about ten minutes later that the door opens, but from the outside. The two guys stare at him for a moment, one holding the gun in the air. Both have their ski masks off.  
“Trying to get rid of the evidence?” Stiles asks with a nervous whisper. “You're forcing me to see your faces so it's easier on your conscience to kill me.” His voice is shaky and breaks on the last word. “Do you think that they won't find any trace of you around the house? You stayed longer than you needed to. You could have left after you attacked me with what you had then.” Stiles raises his hands in surrender. “We can both walk away from this,” he tries. “No one knows about what's happened except us right?” The man's facial expression falters for a moment. “So you return the stuff you have, and leave. I'll clean up my house and cover my bruises-”  
“How do we know you're not lying?”  
“You don't know. But I have no way to prove it.” He glances the bag in one's hand. He knows some of his mom's jewelry is in there. He knows the engagement ring is in there.  
“I'd rather have my life and my mother's stuff than you guys behind bars. It'd-”  
“You're a selfish little-”  
“kill my dad. I'm thinking of my dad here.”

There's a pause for a moment and no one speaks.

“Fine.”  
“We're just leaving?!” The one with the gun shouts. “He's seen our faces! He's better off dead!”  
“Man we have to go!”  
“The kid is lying!”  
“We don't know that!”  
“We don't know if he's telling the truth either!”  
“C'mon man!”  
“You know what-”  
“Hey-”  
“-fuck this!”  
The man shoots at the same time the other shoves him and Stiles goes down the stairs. There's a thick crack against the concrete and they both peer down to look at him. There's blood and he's unmoving.  
“You killed him! You fucking-!”  
“Dammit lets just go!”  
They slam the door shut and run out. They drive away in the fog.

The house phone rings at 3:00 a.m.  
 _“Hey Stiles. I'm getting a little worried about you not calling back last night. I'm probably going to stay until dinner so leave a note if you go anywhere. And call me b-” there's a commotion in the background. Someone shouts something about a gun and the phone rustles around. “Stiles?! Stiles if you can hear this, I'm coming! I'm coming Stiles!”_  
-

The street is all but quiet when multiple police cars come driving down the street. Neighbors pile out of their houses and watch from their driveways.  
The sheriff leads them in, and takes in the sight of his house. There are things knocked around. The kitchen is mostly intact, the fridge door hanging open, and Stiles' blue phone rests on the counter top. Something clenches in the man's stomach as he silently guides the officers to the next room. The living room is torn apart and the small coin jar that he kept on a bookshelf is missing. The people who did this were desperate and messy, there will be DNA somewhere.

On the stairs there's blood smeared on the rail and a knife on the floor. It's a kitchen knife, so Stiles was here and he defended himself, but there's no way to know whose blood it is.  
They proceed up the stairs.

There are a few things missing, but nothing that's too important to the sheriff at the moment. Right now his main focus is Stiles, and he doesn't seem to be here.

“The premises is clear, I want every room searched. Every closet, every bathroom in this house is searched. Check the attic, the garage, everything. Search for my son.”  
“Sir,” one of the deputies speaks up, “if he's not here, it's most likely that he-”  
“Shut it! Search the house!”

-

_He'd struggled up the wooden stairs. There aren't many, but it's quite the task with a twisted ankle, broken arm, and bullet in his stomach. Luckily it's his left arm so he's able to use his dominant arm to pull himself up, but trying not to jostle the bones is difficult. The pain radiating around his middle is even worse. He's not going to make it.  
He's tried shouting, but it comes out weak and he still feels the iron grip around his throat._

-

When the sheriff finally finds Stiles, the boy is sitting on the stairs. He's halfway up the small stair case with hitched breathing and he's cradling his left arm.  
When he reaches out, Stiles flinches, and stumbles down a step before a sob escapes. The sheriff forgot how dark it was down here and he immediately tries to comfort him.  
“St-”  
“Please, please, please just leave. Just leave me please.”  
“Stiles, it's me! Stiles, it's your dad!” The muttering stops, but the tears don't. “Son, how bad are you hurt?”  
“I can't- I can't get up the stairs. My ankle, my-my arm. I got shot, dad it all hurts. Tell me they're gone.” His voice cracks and sounds raspy, but the sheriff will worry about that later.  
“They're gone Stiles. Can you walk if I help you?”  
“I don't think so. I just- there's too much blood.” He starts gasping for air around sobs. “I'm gonna die,” he cries. “I'm gonna die, dad.” The sheriff pulls his son into his arms and yells bloody murder for someone to call an ambulance. “I'm gonna die, but I love you dad. I love you and tell Scott and Melissa, tell the pack. I'm gonna die, and I'm gonna see mom. You'll have the pack, though, dad. Stay strong.” The sheriff sobs as he holds Stiles' trembling body in his arms. “I'm gonna die,” he cries, blood starting to spill out his mouth. “I'm too young and I'm going to die.”

-

Scott doesn't know how to react to his mom sounding so tired. Ever since she found out about the supernatural, she's carried a strong exterior. She's grown mentally and has always been more confident in talking to her son.  
Now she seems hesitant.

“Scott,” her voice sounds small. “Stiles was just admitted to the hospital. I don't know too much and I've been restricted from his case because of my relations with him. It doesn't look too good, though.”  
There's a long moment, as he stares at the wall in front of him. It's early in the morning, nearly 4:00 a.m. The darkness engulfs him and he swears the black is creeping in.  
“What happened?”  
“Home invasion. All we know right now is that there's been break-ins around town. A lot happened yesterday and they must have gone to the Stilinski's house and been there when Stiles got home from school. He was stuck in there for more than twelve hours with them.” Rage builds in him at that last sentence. He starts moving around to get dressed.  
“What happened to him?”  
“All I could see visibly was a broken arm, a gunshot wound, but he had a lot of bleeding. His head, too, and bruising. He may have a concussion, that's all I could see though.”  
“Bruising?”  
“Yeah.” Her voice falls impossible quiet again. “There's small bruising, dark, though, around his neck. Whoever it was tried to strangle him.”  
“I'll be there soon.” He goes to hang up, but his mom says his name again.  
“Scott, there's a lot of blood. He's pale. They've already had to bring him back once.”  
Scott ignores what it really means.

-

By the time Scott gets there, it's already too late. Everything is a muffled sound; the sheriff is sobbing a few feet away from Stiles as doctors try to revive him again. His mom shouts for her second son and collapses into the arms of one of the young interns.  
Everything falls apart in an instant. It's like watching a car crash.  
“Charge it again!”  
The sounds of the ER is fuzzy. It's early and only one other patient is being examined. She seems well enough, though, because she also watches on the scene in horror.  
The flat line breaks through his hearing.  
“Charge it again!”  
“We've already-”  
“Again!”

-

After blood transfusions and one long surgery, Stiles wakes up and gets to say “I'm alive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Major Character Death is temporary


End file.
